


Touch

by whiteowl



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteowl/pseuds/whiteowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t know how she got here. How they got here. All she knows is that it’s happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Take this for what it is.

She doesn’t know how she got here. How _they_ got here. All she knows is that it’s happening.

One minute, she was sitting in her kitchen, crying into her wine glass. The next, she was on this woman’s doorstep. All it took was two glasses of Pinot, coupled with the dull ache of sadness and the sharp bite of anger, to encourage this bright idea. 

On the car ride over, she practiced everything she was going to say. She’d fucking tell her, that’s what she’d do. She was going to say her piece. 

One knock made with a shaking fist. A door pulled open. Dark eyes greeting her. No words were exchanged. The tall form stepped aside, opening a mere sliver of space. A silent invitation. And she accepted it without a second thought.

That piece she was going to say? Dead upon arrival. Dead and burnt, the ashes carried away in the wind. And now, here she is, in a generously sized bedroom, surrounded by white walls that are a stark contrast to the thick, dark locks she’s grasping.

“Joan,” she gasps as the older woman skims her jawline with her teeth.

“You don’t want me to stop,” Joan says, voice like honey, sliding over rocks. 

Vera’s got her hands tangled in Joan’s hair because she has no fucking idea what else to do with them. It’s not like she has much experience with this kind of thing, especially not with a woman. But suddenly, the realization that she’s touching Joan’s hair, hits her like a freight train. That, coupled with the sound of the taller woman’s smoky voice, is enough to nearly bring Vera to her knees. 

“I… I…” Vera stutters. She doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do. Her skin is burning. She’s dizzy. There’s an ache between her legs, rapidly growing stronger as the tip of a tongue traces her collarbone. 

She swears she loathes this woman. Can’t stand her. Just the sight of Joan Ferguson makes her want to smash something. 

But, in this moment, she wants more.

Slowly, the shorter woman removes her hands from the older woman’s hair. She hesitantly slides them down Joan’s sides, resting them on either hip, eyes traveling upward.

Joan smirks. Her eyes are glittering. It’s dangerous. Something like fear is coursing through Vera’s body. 

In a flash, Joan’s lips crash against Vera’s. The younger woman lets out a startled squeak.

The kiss is demanding. The taller woman nips at Vera’s bottom lip, her tongue slipping in and exploring Vera’s mouth. Vera is trying to keep up, trying to slide her tongue against Joan’s. 

Fingers claw at the shorter woman’s blouse. Joan is not gentle. There is a hunger here.

The taller woman presses her body against the shorter woman’s. She pushes her backwards until Vera’s legs bump into something firm. The bed. Two palms, flat on her shoulders, push her onto her back.

“Oh my,” Joan purrs, looming over Vera’s small frame. “Look at the state you’re in.”

Vera is panting. There is a throbbing in her center. She wants. She needs. And, fuck, it’s a little embarrassing, but she stuffs the embarrassment down as she scoots to the top of the bed.

Joan crosses the room and switches the light off. The moon hangs in the sky, just outside the window. Joan stalks towards the bed, eyes hard, the moonlight casting her in a glow that makes her look almost ethereal. It’s a little bizarre, Vera thinks.

The taller woman is on top of her now. Joan strips Vera of her clothing. Unbuttons the blouse and pulls it off. Pops the button on Vera’s jeans and unzips them. The sound of the zipper is almost deafening to Vera, cutting through the thick quiet of the room, and it hits her: This is real. This is happening.

Her head spins. Her heart thuds. She’s terrified. She’s excited. She is so hot, she swears she’ll burst into flames. And she wonders how it’s possible to feel so many things at once.

She wonders how it’s possible that _this particular woman_ is able to make her feel so many things at once.

Joan slides the jeans off. Reaches behind Vera and unclasps her bra, setting it on the nightstand. Long fingers hook into the waistband of her panties and pull them off, and Vera is nude. She is laid out underneath Joan Ferguson, bare. Exposed. She wants to cover herself, but she resists the urge. 

Joan studies her, cold eyes scanning her from head to toe. 

Vera wants to fidget under the scrutiny. She knows she’s small. She knows her skin looks as pale as a fish right now, in this light.

She does not fidget, though.

Joan’s eyes meet Vera’s. The younger woman defiantly lifts her chin. She’s feeling bold. 

She’s not quite sure, she can’t exactly tell, but she swears she sees the older woman’s eyes soften in the moonlight.

Joan leans down, licks a strip up Vera’s stomach, her hair ticking Vera’s skin. 

“No,” the younger woman says, pushing lightly against Joan’s chest.

Joan stops.

“There’s something missing,” Vera informs her.

“And what’s that?” Joan asks, bemusement lacing her tone.

“You, naked.”

Joan sits up abruptly, eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not,” she says.

“Yes,” Vera presses. “Take off your clothes.”

Joan says nothing. She climbs off of Vera, sitting at her feet.

Vera stretches, catlike. “Do you want me?” she asks, spreading her legs, just a little. She never behaves this way. Actually, she didn’t even believe she was capable of it, until now. She’s feeling daring.

Joan stares. 

Several moments pass, and Vera is sure Joan can hear the pounding of her heart.

Suddenly, the older woman is removing her shirt. Then, her pants. Vera watches this, captivated. Every inch of skin that is being revealed is mesmerizing. Joan has shoulders, and elbows, and knees, and Vera has never before considered this. People have these things, these body parts, but she hasn’t ever thought of Joan Ferguson’s fucking elbows. 

Yet, here they are.  


The bra and panties are the last to go, and Vera’s breath catches. She feels her mouth water.

Joan pushes Vera down, settles on top of her. Vera gasps at the feeling of Joan’s naked body against her own.

The older woman pins the younger woman’s wrists above her head, bending her head down to drag her lips across Vera’s cheek. She bites the younger woman’s earlobe and licks the shell of her ear. Vera moans. 

Joan’s tongue glides down the side of Vera’s neck, stopping here and there to nibble and suck the soft skin. Vera instinctively thrusts her hips. Her hands twitch. She wants to touch Joan.

The older woman’s mouth continues to travel downwards. She mouths Vera’s left breast, and when she takes Vera’s nipple in her mouth, the younger woman gasps and arches. She feels a burst of slick heat between her legs. 

Joan sucks the nipple and scrapes it with her teeth. She releases Vera’s hands, brings her right hand down, circles Vera’s other breast with a fingertip, teasing the nipple.

Vera’s hands, now free, desperately reach for Joan. She very lightly drags her nails across Joan’s back, spanning her shoulder blades. She combs her fingers through the older woman’s hair.

Vera thinks she might die. She is so fucking wet, and she knows she’s getting Joan’s comforter wet.

Good, she thinks.

Joan releases Vera’s nipple. Her tongue dances patterns down the younger woman’s body, stopping at the trimmed thatch of dark hair between her thighs. Vera’s hips rise. She wants Joan’s mouth.

Joan looks up at Vera, her eyes unreadable. Her hair cascades down her bare shoulders. 

Vera’s throat tightens. She swallows. 

Joan’s fingers swirl down Vera’s thighs. She sits up, lifting Vera’s legs, bending the younger woman’s knees until her feet are flat on the bed. 

The older woman smiles a rare smile, teeth glinting in the moonlight. 

“Vera,” she says, the nail of her index finger scraping the younger woman’s inner thigh. “I want you to do something for me.”

Vera huffs in frustration. “Joan,” she says. It comes out almost as a whine. “I need--“

“I know what you need,” Joan snarls. “But I want something.”

Vera stiffens. 

“What I want,” Joan continues, “is for you to fuck yourself.”

Vera scrubs her face with both hands. “I’m pretty sure that’s your job.”

“Is it?” Joan asks, and Vera just knows the older woman’s eyebrow is arching.

“Yes!” Vera practically shouts. “In this situation, yes.”

“Oh, Vera, no imagination,” Joan criticizes, and Vera suddenly remembers why she’s come here tonight. She’s about to call the whole thing off. Put her clothes back on, give this woman a piece of her mind, and go home. Maybe cry into her wine glass some more.

“Vera,” Joan continues, grasping Vera’s knees and pulling her legs apart. She reaches for Vera’s hands, prying them away from the younger woman’s face. She guides Vera’s right hand to the younger’s woman’s right thigh.

“Touch yourself,” Joan commands. 

Vera blinks. She’s torn between wanting to run and wanting to stay. But, something in Joan’s voice makes Vera obey. Slowly, shyly, she reaches down and slides a finger across her swollen clit. Fuck, she’s never been this wet before. Joan sits back, observing, and Vera is thankful that the only light in the room is coming from the moon. Otherwise, the older woman would see just how red the younger woman’s face is.

“Come on, Vera,” Joan says. “Don’t be shy.”

Vera scoffs. She rubs harder, her middle finger joining her index finger. Warm jolts of pleasure shoot through her body. She moans.

“Very good,” Joan drawls. Vera watches Joan’s face. Joan’s gaze travels from Vera’s center, to Vera’s face, and back again. The older woman licks her lips. 

She should be humiliated by this, and she kind of was, just a minute ago. But now? Well, the fact that Joan Ferguson is studying her so intently as she pleasures herself is only heightening her arousal.

The younger woman rubs harder. Her breath comes in hard pants. She tilts her head back and squeezes her eyes shut, biting her bottom lip.

Suddenly, a finger pushes inside of her. 

“Oh, FUCK!” Vera cries out, her entire body nearly shooting off the bed. She looks down to see Joan, watching her.

Vera lightly pinches her clit, and a second finger pushes inside her. Her back arches.

“Oh, god,” the younger woman gasps. 

Joan’s fingers thrust in and out, hard and fast. Then, the fingers push even deeper, and when Joan moves them in a circular motion, Vera almost can’t take it. The pleasure is so intense, it’s nearly painful.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Vera breathes, rolling her clit between her fingers. She’s clawing at her left thigh with her free hand.

“That’s right,” Joan hisses, once again circling her fingers inside Vera.

The younger woman’s toes curl. She feels herself tighten, pleasure coursing through every molecule in her body. Her fingers continue to stroke her clit. A kind of burning sensation ripples across her skin. She’s close, so close, and she's never felt anything like this before. 

It suddenly occurs to the younger woman that Joan is helping Vera fuck herself. 

The younger woman’s gaze locks with the older woman’s, and that’s all it takes. Vera’s body tightens, back arching, lips parting in a soundless cry. Then, she settles. Her eyes are screwed shut. She feels Joan shift on the bed, fingers pulling out, and opens her eyes just in time to see the older woman drop between her spread thighs. Joan licks at Vera’s wet opening, tasting her, drinking every bit of her up.

Vera groans.

Joan runs her tongue over Vera’s sensitive clit and the younger woman twitches. 

Once she’s had her fill, the older woman slides upwards, once again leaning over Vera. There is a triumphant smirk on her face.

Vera is covered in a sheen of sweat. She feels drunk. She tries to read Joan’s expression, but she can’t. Instead, she wraps her arms around Joan’s naked shoulders, burying her face in the crook of the older woman’s neck. Joan smells fresh, like laundry right out of the wash. Vera inhales, curling her sore legs around Joan’s hips. She releases the older woman’s shoulders, skating her fingers down Joan’s body. Her skin is soft, warm. Vera wants to laugh. How could a woman, so hard and so cold, have such soft and warm skin? It’s ridiculous, fucking ridiculous, Vera thinks.

This is wrong. This should not have happened. But, it feels right.

Vera smiles to herself as she breathes Joan in.


End file.
